


Sunlight and Shadow

by widowbitesandhearingaids



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Autistic Newt Scamander, Credence Barebone Heals, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Credence Barebone-centric, Grindelwald can eat shit and die, Living in Newt Scamander's Suitcase, Look yall its Credence he's fucked up, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Protective Newt Scamander, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-08 07:55:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8836576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/widowbitesandhearingaids/pseuds/widowbitesandhearingaids
Summary: Credence Barebone is a monster, but even monsters deserve second chances. Sometimes, second chances come by way of magical suitcases and handsome wizards with sunlight in their smile. And sometimes, monsters are just men after all.





	1. Chapter 1

He was dark. He was swirling darkness with no beginning and no end. His world was punctuated by flashes of color and snippets of sound, threatening to destroy him if he stopped moving for a single instant. _Hide_ , some part of him whispered.

Once, when he was a creature of flesh and blood, that impulse had been a part of him as surely as the air in his lungs. _Hide, hide, hidehidehidehide_. From who, he couldn’t recall. He remembered a shrill, unforgiving voice and sharp, striking pain against his back and across his knuckles.

The instinct was the only bit of humanity left in him as he tore through the world. A world that was far too bright, too loud, too much. There was no shelter for such a thing as he; nowhere safe for him to go. What little control he had left began to wane and he felt himself begin to dissolve into the darkness.

And then, on the brink, a flash of blue. He recognized the color from somewhere, but the memories were laced with pain. With the last bit of control he had left over the pulsing blackness, he hurtled towards the only bit of familiarity he’d found. There was a soft, accented voice and then nothing. No, not nothing –

Quiet. There were soft, snuffling noises and the occasional birdcry, but it did not compare to the madness he’d left behind. And it was warm. Warm and dry in a way that Manhattan never seemed to manage. Sometimes, he imaged that he heard the sad, lilting voice that had come before the quiet, but it was always gone too quickly. Perhaps it was his perception of time that was wrong, he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was the comforting warmth as he tried to put himself back together.

He was less than a man, but not quite a beast, not yet anyway. Some kind of nether-creature, alone in the world. He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, trapped in the darkness without shape or form; it could’ve been minutes, weeks, or years, he had no way of knowing. Until the day he heard a name.

 _His_ name. “Credence,” the lilting voice said. “I thought you might like to hear some stories. Real stories, not that Muggle nonsense. Cinderella and Jack and the Beanstalk, what tosh. Giants don’t live on top of beanstalks, they live in the mountains. Bit of a pity, that. But we’ll get to giant lore in time, won’t we, Credence?” Credence. That was his name, thought he’d never heard it said quite like that before. The sharp voice, the one that preceded pain, used to spit his name like it was a curse.

Credence. _Belief_.

Credence. _Devil-marked_.

Once, he could swear he could feel hands on his skin – his _skin_.

Credence opened his eyes for the first time since the subway to find himself face to face with something not quite human. Credence let out a startled noise of surprise, drawing his legs to his chest and curling into the tightest ball that he could manage. The thing blinked and vanished, and Credence could feel the darkness pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He was himself again, for all the good it was worth. His body was his own, though whatever lurked beneath his skin was poised to burst free at any moment.

 _Abomination_ , the shrill voice shrieked. Mary Lou. Credence flinched at her memory, though the woman herself was long dead. Credence, and whatever monstrosity was inside of him, had seen to that.

“Alright Credence, today we’ll be reading Babbity Rabbity – oh.” Credence winced at the sudden noise after filtering everything through the darkness for God only knew how long. He didn’t dare look up, terrified of what he might see. Mary Lou’s stories of witches and monsters danced through his head, though Credence now knew he was a depraved mix of both. “Well this is a welcome surprise.” Credence blinked, his eyes still fixed on the spot where the creature had disappeared. He couldn’t fathom his presence as anything less than a burden, let alone being _welcome_.

 “I’m sorry,” Credence whispered. “For – ” For what? Trespassing? The devil in him? He black stain on his soul that had somehow come alive? There was no word to properly describe the weight of his sin.

“Oh, not at all,” the accented voice said and somehow Credence found the courage to look up. For a moment the was struck dumb, unable to do anything but stare as the strange light in this place turned the man’s eyes gold. They were spectacularly kind and it occurred to Credence why this man and his blue coat were so familiar.

“It’s you,” Credence murmured. “From the subway.” The light in the man’s eyes dimmed and Credence flinched, fearing that he’d said something wrong.

“Ah yes, that bit of unpleasantness,” the man said, frowning. “Well you’re safe here. None of those brutish Americans can hurt you. No offense.”

None was taken, but that led to his next question. “And where is here, Mr…”

“Scamander,” the man said. His hands fluttered by his sides as if he couldn’t decide whether or not to shake Credence’s hand. Credence didn’t blame him; he wouldn’t want to touch someone so vile and Credence couldn’t stand to darken the sunlight that seemed to shine through Mr. Scamander’s skin. “My mother named me Newton, but everyone calls me Newt. Bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy, I’d say. As to where you are, well, you’re in my suitcase.”

“Your – ” Credence started before he snapped his mouth shut. He stood perfectly still, expecting a slap for his outburst but none came.

“Right, sorry,” Mr. Scamander – Newt – said, rubbing the back on his neck. “I forgot that you were raised by that horrid Muggle woman. Oh, Merlin’s beard I’m sorry.” Newt said, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

Credence barely registered the insult to Mary Lou’s memory, mesmerized by the way Newt’s freckles disappeared when he blushed. “Muggle?” he asked when he finally found his voice again.

“Yes. Non-magic folk.” Like Mary Lou, and his sisters. His sisters. Modesty and Chastity, who had been stolen from their homes just as Mary Lou had stolen him. They would never think of him again without remembering the monster that destroyed their home – the monster that’d killed their foster mother. He had killed their foster mother, her blood was on his hands. The weight of it hit him in full force.

 _Killer_ , Mary Lou’s voice whispered in his ear. _Murderer. Monster. Abomination abomination abom –_

“Credence!” Credence blinked, the sound of his name spoken so strangely bringing him back to the present. His vision seemed to blur and it took him a moment to realize that _he_ was the one who was blurred. The edges of his skin shifted as he moved like daylight filtering through stained glass. “Credence I need you to listen to me. You’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you. Not your mother, not MACUSA, no one. You’re safe. I’m here with you. I’m here.”

Credence inhaled sharply, settling back into his body. The darkness settled, lodging somewhere beneath his heart.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, burying his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. I – ” He should go. He was a danger to anyone he came across and for a reason Credence couldn’t fathom, Newt had put himself into harm’s way. And for what? Credence was a monster, and his control over the darkness was tenuous at best. It _would_ get away from him and he couldn’t bear it if he hurt this kind-eyed stranger the next time the darkness burst free. “I’ll go.” He stood abruptly, swaying from the sudden movement. After being incorporeal for so long, his legs were wobbly and unsure.

“Careful,” Newt said, stepping forward to catch him before Credence could collapse. Credence froze, feeling Newt’s hand right above his heart, though the contact only lasted a moment. Newt righted him and stepped away just as quickly, wringing his hands by his sides. Credence ducked his head to hide his shame. “Look, I, er – I won’t keep you here if you wish to find shelter elsewhere, but the magic in this case can keep you safe for however long you need.”

Magic. The devil’s foremost tool of wickedness, but there was nothing but earnestness in Newt’s eyes. He meant what he said – but Credence had been fooled before. He’d been taken in by the promise of magic, of finding a place to belong, a real home. Mr. Graves had promised him the world and more, and ripped those promises away when Credence was no longer useful.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone else,” Credence whispered. “I’m…” Evil, vile, repugnant. “Dangerous.”

“Well of course you are,” Newt said, smiling inexplicably. “You’re human. We humans are some of the most fearsome beasts alive, did you know that? My creatures are practically tame in comparison.” He paused, the smile growing like the sun peeking out from behind a cloud. Credence had to fight the impulse to look away. “Would you like to meet them?”

“Meet who?”

“My creatures, who else? I’m sure they’d love to meet you.” Newt strode past Credence, to what he’d assumed was a wall but was only a flap of fabric. “Come on then,” Newt said, pulling the fabric aside and beckoning him forward. Credence crept through the makeshift doorway to find himself inside what looked like some kind of zoo habitat. The ground was made of grass and straw, and though Newt insisted they were inside a suitcase, the sun shone brightly overhead. There was a spherical kind of nest in front of them, and a wooden cabin behind it. Whatever magic was in this place, it was nothing like Credence expected. His own power was dark and twisted, ripping and twisting until everything good was gone. There had been some of that same darkness in Mr. Graves, in the little magic he’d shown Credence to keep him coming back for more.

This magic was different, pulsing with light and life. Credence had never felt so out of place. At least in sooty, smoggy Manhattan, he could melt into the drab crowd and be done with it. Here he was a smudge of black ink where there should be nothing but riots of color. He didn’t belong.

Credence felt the darkness beginning to expand inside of him when there was a sudden tug on his sleeve. He looked down to see the big-eyed creature from before, holding his hand firmly.

“Ah yes, you’ve already met Dougal.” _Dougal_ was the size of a child and furry like a monkey, but there was nothing but crystal-clear intelligence in its amber eyes. Credence took a breath, focusing on Newt’s voice and as soon as the darkness receded, the monkey creature disappeared again. “He’s been worried sick about you. Bit of a mother hen, that one. He even took some time away from babysitting the occamy chicks to keep you company.”

Credence could do nothing but stare in mute wonder as Newt introduced him to the most fantastic menagerie he’d ever seen. Mary Lou had never allowed him to go to the zoo – the closest he’d ever been was handing out leaflets a little ways up the road – but he knew that Newt’s collection outstripped them all.

There were half a dozen habitats in the suitcase, all connected by the flaps of fabric that couldn’t be anything less than pure magic. Credence forced himself not to touch one as they walked from one habitat to another, repulsion and fascination creating a confusing jumble inside of him. This was everything he’d been taught to hate and fear, but he couldn’t help but be dazzled. He couldn’t see Dougal, who Newt explained was a demiguise, a kind of magical primate that could disappear at will and even see the future.

Credence wondered what kind of future the demiguise saw for him.

Newt kept up a steady stream of information as they walked to and fro through the habitats, naming each of the creatures and rattling off endless lists of facts about each one. They ran the gamut from fluffy to fearsome but Newt approached each with ease. It was clear that he loved each and every one of the strange creatures and that they loved him in return. Their environments were equally unique, from snowy tundra to what Newt called a rainforest, to a section of the case where is was always nighttime.

“Oh,” Newt said once they reached the main space once more, the one with the cabin. He fiddled with his hands. “Terribly sorry, I imagine that wasn’t very interesting. Most people don’t give a whit about magizoology and when I get going, I – ”

“It was,” Credence said before he could stop himself. “Interesting, I mean. Very interesting.” He flushed crimson, fear flooding through his veins, and he turned his face away. He’d interrupted. He’d interrupted and now he would be punished for certain.

“Really?” Newt said, sounding so genuinely surprised that Credence hazarded to look at him again. “Most people, well. I’m difficult to like, I suppose.”

Credence had never found a statement to be so blatantly incorrect but he held his tongue. Just because Newt hadn’t struck him for his previous indiscretions didn’t mean he wouldn’t. Perhaps he was just allowing Credence a kind of grace period, to feel comfortable before Newt set the rules.

“But of course,” Newt went on, oblivious to Credence’s internal conflict. “There’s always the boat. I just love Muggle steamships, don’t you?” He waited expectantly and Credence realized that he was meant to answer.

“I’ve never been on one.” He’d never been off of the island of Manhattan.

“Never been – ” Newt goggled. “You’re on one now. Technically, we all are, but don’t tell the Muggles. I doubt they’ll be able to wrap their heads around an Undetectable Extension Charm.” Newt paused, smiling that sunshine smile again. “Would you like to go upstairs?”

Again, Credence was supposed to reply. “I thought you said it wasn’t safe?” For him. For everyone else.

“We’re in international waters for the time being. Those trigger-happy Americans have no jurisdiction out here, and a quick jaunt won’t hurt. Would you like to have a look? I’ve always loved the smell of the wind off of the ocean.” Credence could barely fathom having a choice, being able to say no. He was so used to orders, commands, but Newt seemed content to wait for Credence to make up his own mind.

“Yes,” he said after a moment. “Yes, please.” Newt’s smile broadened.

“Excellent.” The wizard hastened to the little cabin without waiting to see if Credence was following, throwing the door wide and closing it behind them. The small space was cheerfully cluttered in a way that would’ve driven Mary Lou to distraction. Feathers, fur, and all manner of odd items were stacked and sorted in a haphazard kind of way, along with dozens and dozens of books. Most of them were in piles on the ground, though some had managed find homes on the shelves that lined the walls. In what looked like a scientist’s beaker, something bubbled, giving off an almost melancholy smell and as Credence watched, the liquid turned from bright blue to pink and back again. “Come on then,” Newt said, withdrawing a thin piece of wood from his pocket.

Credence froze, his attention trained solely on the wand. How he’d envied Mr. Graves’ wand, how he’d longed for one of his own. Once, Credence had gone so far as to pick up a stick of wood in Central Park and, just for a moment, pretended that he had the power that came so easily to Mr. Graves. Envy had always been his cardinal sin; Mary Lou had gotten that much right at least.

Newt waved his wand without any kind of showmanship or force, just a simple flick of the wrist before it was stowed away again, and a wooden staircase descended from the ceiling.

“Careful now, watch your head,” Newt said softly as Credence exited the case into a tiny room. He couldn’t help but stare. The battered suitcase was plain and unextraodinary, giving no hint of the world contained within. Suddenly, Credence felt nauseous, but whether it was from the rocking of the ship or cramped quarters they’d found themselves in, he couldn’t tell. “Shall we?” Newt said, extending his arm. Credence didn’t take it and Newt dropped his elbow without comment.

They emerged from the small cabin together, an odd pair if there ever was one. There weren’t many people about, but Credence kept his eyes settled on Newt’s heels as they walked through the narrow halls and onto the deck. The air was crisper than Credence had ever known it to be, a far cry from the haze and pollution of New York.

“Well go on,” Newt said, leading them to the railing. “Take a look.” There was nothing but sea for miles around and no matter how Credence squinted, he couldn’t see land anywhere. They were all alone on the ocean. The life he’d known had never been so far away, and no matter where he looked, there was nothing but churning ocean.

It was too big. There was too much. Too much ocean, too much sky – he couldn’t see where the world ended and the horizon began. His breath came in short, jagged gasps and the darkness roiled in reaction to his panic. His vision was spotted and hazy, shot through with the hateful gray-blue of the sea.

“Credence?” Newt’s voice was an anchor, but it wasn’t enough to calm his racing heart. “Credence, tell me what you need.” Credence needed boundaries, he needed _walls_ , not the terrible openness all around him

“Please, I want to be back in the suitcase – I can’t – _please_.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Newt said, gripping Credence’s elbow firmly. There was an almighty pressure, as if he was being squeezed from all sides, and the world was whisked away in a colorful swirl. The moment Credence was sure he would burst, the pressure released.

They were back in the cabin. Back in the case. Credence collapsed into a chair, his legs giving out on him altogether and he bent his head between his knees, struggling to breathe. Somewhere beyond him, Newt was having a one-sided argument.

“Don’t you use that tone with me,” he said. There was only high-pitched chittering in reply. “How was I to know that he wouldn’t like the ocean? Well, yes, he was born in the city and agoraphobia is common in city-dwellers, especially ones who have never been on the open ocean – alright!” Newt sighed. “You’re right, I was careless.”

“Who…” Credence started, his voice still breathy but miraculously steady, given the circumstances. He kept his head between his knees, afraid that if he moved the nausea would reassert itself. “Who are you talking to?”

“Dougal is giving me a bit of a verbal thrashing. I should’ve guessed that you might not take to the sea right away. I’m sorry, Credence.” Dougal. Dougal the demiguise. There was a small hand on Credence’s knee and he knew without looking that it was his new primate friend.

“It’s…it’s okay.” Slowly, Credence unfolded himself and sat up straight, holding his hands in his lap. Newt paced, fiddling with the strange items on the table before speaking.

“I know I’m a bit of a bore and I don’t make the best first impression,” Newt said, twirling his wand between his fingers. For some reason, hearing Newt talk about himself that way made Credence unbearably sad. He wanted to contradict him, to argue, but he swallowed the words. He didn’t know the rules yet, and until he did, Credence couldn’t take any chances. “But you are welcome here, as long as you need. I can keep you safe, Credence, and I think I can help you, given time.”

 _What do you want in return_? The question danced on the tip of his tongue. Everything came with a price, especially when magic was involved. Maybe Newt wanted to use the dark power inside of him, like Mr. Graves. Maybe he wanted something…else. Credence desperately wanted to know what this kindness would cost him, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask, not when Newt was looking at him so patiently. He didn’t want to ruin the illusion that this golden man could possibly care for a such a lowly creature as he.

“I would like that,” Credence said finally. Newt’s smile was blinding and Credence’s heart twisted painfully, knowing that it couldn’t last. Newt _would_ demand something of him, just like all the rest. This moment would end, the mirage would shatter, and Credence would shatter along with it.

“Brilliant. Let’s get you set up somewhere more homey, shall we?”

But for right now, Credence was happy to pretend.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I want is for Credence to be happy it's all I want.  
> I hope everyone enjoyed this first chapter - comments and kudos are always appreciated <3  
> Come talk to me on [ tumblr! ](%E2%80%9Dballerinawidow.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger warning for self-harm at the end*

Credence had never known the space and freedom that he was afforded in Newt’s case.

“What would you like?” Newt asked, gesturing a bit with his wand. “I must admit I am excited at the prospect of making a human habitat.”

“A…a habitat?” Credence balked, any excitement over having a choice vanishing in an instant. He could hear the senator’s voice ringing in his ears. _Freak_. “Like I’m one of your creatures?”

Credence was suddenly very aware of the… _magic_ of this place. The foreignness. For all its wonders, perhaps it was just another cage. Perhaps Newt wanted to trap him, study the monster that lived under his skin.

A tug on his hand alerted him to Dougal’s presence and Credence blinked, letting the demiguise anchor him to reality. Newt carried on, oblivious to Credence’s sudden doubt.

“Of course not,” Newt said. “You, Credence, like my creatures, belong to no one – _ow_!” Credence jumped at the sudden exaltation and Newt slapped the side of his neck. “Merlin’s beard, Pick, what was that for?” There was only the faintest of squeaking from something Credence couldn’t see but Newt seemed to understand.

“Is everything – is everything alright?” Credence dared to ask. Newt turned to him, looking every bit like an abashed schoolboy.

“Erm, Pickett informs me that I’ve been a bit…well, my manners – you see, there’s a reason I prefer my creatures. I have a tendency to speak without thinking and I didn’t mean to imply – ”

“It’s alright,” Credence said quickly. He knew he was speaking out of turn, but he’d face the consequences if it took the anguished look off of Newt’s face.

 “A home,” Newt said, looking relieved. “It’s a home, not a habitat. For as long as you’re here with me.”

“I would like grass,” Credence said after a long moment. “Like in Central Park.” He’d spent his whole life in the city but he had never been allowed to so much as set foot in the park.

“Then grass you shall have,” Newt had said. It took a day or so – Newt explained that this kind of magic took time to set in – but his space inside the suitcase was unlike anything Credence could’ve imagined.

It was like a scene from one of Modesty’s picture books, before their mother had found it and made all three of them watch it burn. Credence had never seen grass so green, or perhaps he’d never been anywhere with such clear sky. A little stream cut through the field, connecting with the mooncalf habitat next door, and Newt had even made Credence a cottage of his very own. It was nearly the size of his apartment back home and it was all for him.

Newt made it clear that Credence could do whatever he wished within this place, and he could come and go as he pleased. He didn’t impose or ask Credence to accompany him on his rounds around the suitcase, simply let him be. Sometimes, Credence was grateful for the solitude, but he couldn’t help the small part of him that wished Newt would seek out his company.

Most days, Credence was content to wander. It was a stark contrast to what he was used to. Mary Lou had barely let him outside of their tiny apartment except to hand out leaflets for the New Salemers. Even those instances were rare. Credence had always been so much worse than his sisters. Mary Lou said that when he’d been born, the devil had reached out and grabbed him with both hands, leaving a wound on his soul that would never heal.

Wincing, Credence set his book aside and trailed his long fingers over the backs of his hands, phantom pains flaring on either side of his spine. It had been a little over a week since he reformed, and it seemed to Credence that he saw less and less of Newt every day, though Mary Lou still haunted his nightmares.

 _Don’t think about her_ , he told himself firmly, clenching his fists so that his fingernails bit into his palms. The darkness inside him only grew stronger when he thought of his foster mother – and what he’d done to her. Her and countless others. _Stop it_.

Something moved in the corner of his eye and Credence jumped, turning his head slowly to see a tiny green creature perched climbing onto his knee.

“What…?” Credence murmured, cocking his head slightly. The creature did the same. It looked rather like a stick insect, leafy and bright green, with a tiny face. If it hadn’t been perched on his black clothes, he wouldn’t have been able to tell it from the grass. “You’re a bowtruckle.” The bug creature nodded and Credence felt a glow of pride. He’d remembered. He’d done something right.

“Credence?” Newt’s voice came at the boundary. “Credence, I don’t mean to bother you but – ” Newt poked his head through the flap, his sunshine smile lighting up his face. For a single, blissful moment, Credence almost believed the smile was meant for him. “You’ve found Pickett.”

“I, uh, I think he found me,” Credence said, watching out of the corner of his eyes as Pickett the bowtruckle scrambled up his pants leg and perched on his shoulder. He made a soft squeaking that Credence knew was a kind of language, but he couldn’t understand it. Credence went deathly still as he felt a sharp tug on his hair, and the field vanished. In an instant, he was back in Mary Lou’s house, forcing himself immobile as she brought the switch down again and again. He bit his lip so hard it bled, and when Mary Lou opened her mouth, a kind, accented voice came out instead.

“Really, Pickett, what a thing to say,” the vision of his foster mother said in Newt’s voice and Credence dug his fingernails into his palms until reality reasserted itself. Pickett was on the top of his head now, and seemed to have taken offense to his hair.

“I’m sorry,” Credence said quickly. He didn’t know what he’d done to slight the creature, there was no surer way to fall from Newt’s favor than to anger any of his beloved beasts.

“It’s not you at all,” Newt assured him, stretching out his hand. Credence had the sudden, mad urge to take Newt’s hand in his own and hold it close. His stomach lurched and he pushed the thought away, unable to bear it. His soul couldn’t bear the weight, not again. “Pickett is being rather rude.”

“What is he saying?” Credence asked.

“He dislikes your hairstyle,” Newt said, flushing. He sounded so distraught that Credence almost laughed.

“I don’t like it much either,” Credence said, speaking directly to Pickett as the bowtruckle stood on Newt’s finger. Mary Lou used kitchen scissors and a shallow bowl as a template. Credence knew that he wasn’t much to look at, but his severe haircut only made him look even more like an undertaker’s son. Perhaps he was; it wasn’t as if he remembered his father.

“Really?” Newt said, his eyes lighting up. “There’s a potion for hair growth if you’d prefer it longer. I can make some in my workshop in less than an hour.”

The prospect of changing his appearance was enticing, Credence couldn’t deny that. One of his oldest, most secret dreams was to wake up as a completely different person. What would it be like, he wondered, not to recognize the boy in the mirror?

“I’d like that,” Credence said. “Thank you.”

“Brilliant, come along then,” Newt said. He deposited Pickett into his breast pocket and gave the bulge a firm pat. “And you and I are going to have a talk about manners,” he said. “Yes, I know I’m not really one to judge – a hypocrite, really? Oh, no, you do not get to lecture me about attachment issues – ”

Credence almost smiled as he trailed along behind Newt, hearing his one-sided argument. He’d never known someone so affectionate. He’d never seen someone love anything as much as Newt loved his creatures.

 _I do not deserve to be among their number_ , Credence thought as he sat down in a chair in the workshop. It was just as chaotic as the last time he visited, though Credence could see that there was a haphazard sense to be found in the stacks of books, feathers, and other odds and ends. Pickett the bowtruckle sat atop a massive stack of papers, watching everything with his tiny eyes. 

Newt explained what he was doing as he did it, and Credence tried to pay attention just as he had when Newt introduced him to the beasts inside the suitcase. He knew better than to ask Newt – or anyone, for that matter – to repeat themselves.

“You know,” Newt said, stirring the potion carefully. “This potion was originally invented by a Brit. Paxton or Pugsley. Potten, maybe, I can’t remember the name.” Credence tried to nod encouragingly, as if he wasn’t hopelessly confused. Newt shook his head. “Forgive me, Credence, you must not understand a word of this.”

“I’m – ” Credence started, intending to apologize, but Newt waved his hand.

“I keep forgetting that you weren’t raised in our world. Someone with magic like yours – well, you’re going to make a wonderful wizard.”

 _You’re going to make a wonderful wizard_. The words echoed in Credence’s mind, setting his thoughts aglow for a single, shining moment. But then the darkness roiled inside him, a reminder. Mr. Graves had promised the very same. He’d promised that Credence would be a powerful wizard one day, and that he’d never want for anything ever again. Not friends or love or a home. He would have everything he ever dreamed about.

“Newt?” Credence asked, remembering what Mr. Graves had called him. “What’s a Squib?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Newt said quickly. “A Squib is someone born into a magical family but doesn’t possess the gift themselves. They’re rare and terribly sad. Most of them end up living among Muggles, but I’m afraid to say that they aren’t treated very kindly.” Newt cocked his head. “Where on earth did you hear that word?”

“Mr. Graves,” Credence said softly, trying not to remember how protected he’d felt when they met. How his skin would warm where Mr. Graves touched him. Sometimes, Credence could still feel fingertips trailing over his sharp cheekbones, and a gravel-rough voice whisper in his ear.

Even now, even after everything, those memories were untainted. Somehow that was worse, knowing that Mr. Graves was just using him, that he was only being kind because it served him to do so. Credence knew it was shameful, but he couldn’t bear to rid himself of the memories.

“Ah,” Newt said, a frown twisting his lovely lips down in the corners. “That was a very unkind thing to say.”

“So I’m not, then? A Squib?”

“You, my dear Credence, are as magical as they come. You’re remarkable.” Credence ducked his head to hide his smile, trying to stifle the place in his heart that glowed at Newt’s praise. “Let me prove it to you,” Newt said, twirling his wand between his fingers before holding it out to Credence. “Go on.”

Credence hesitated, torn between his foster mother’s superstitions and the hunger that burned inside him as powerfully as the darkness. Finally, he took the thin bit of wood in his hand, holding his breath as if it might explode on contact.

“Merlin’s beard,” Newt said, awe coloring his voice. “Did you feel that?” Credence blinked, looking around to try and see whatever Newt was seeing.

“I…I didn’t feel anything,” Credence said, his cheeks burning. Maybe Newt was wrong this whole time; maybe he was a Squib.

“You will,” Newt said, with so much confidence that Credence had to look away. He didn’t deserve it, any of it. Not the safety of the case, not Newt’s protection. Not even the magic required to grow his hair. Newt kept adding kindness after kindness, indebting Credence more with each passing day and he had no way to even the scales. Credence bit his lip, clenching his fist around the borrowed wand. He didn’t want to think about what would happen when it came time to pay – what all of _this_ would cost him. “But for the moment, you can take as many books as you’d like.” Newt gestured to the shelves lining the walls. “I’ve got everything a first-year student would need, plus a few extras that you might find interesting.”

“Why – ” Credence asked, still staggering under the sudden, unfettered access to Newt’s library. To Newt. “Why can’t you teach me? I mean, you’re…” Wonderful. Kind. Too good to the likes of him. “A great wizard, surely.”

Newt blinked, before bursting into laughter. “Me?” He said, covering his mouth with his hand to smother the sound. “I’m sorry. That’s terrible sweet of you to say, but I am not a great wizard. I am passable at best. And I hope this doesn’t tarnish your view of me, but I’m not technically even a _qualified_ wizard. I never finished school.” He gestured to the books. “These were the bulk of my magical education.”

“What happened?”

“A very unfortunate misunderstanding,” Newt said. There was a sadness in his voice now and Credence felt a stab of guilt for making him relive the unpleasant memory. “Ah, Dougal,” Newt said as the demiguise appeared. He sounded grateful for the interruption. “Punctual as usual.” Newt handed Dougal a bucket of something that smelled foul. “Credence, you can go with him to feed the occamy chicks if you’d like. The potion should be finished by the time you come back.”

Credence nodded, hastily returning Newt’s wand. Suddenly, the cramped workshop was more stifling than comforting. He hated himself for upsetting Newt and he knew that it was better if he left.

He could feel Dougal’s enormous eyes watching him as they walked to the circular occamy nest. There were almost a dozen of them, little blue snakes with the wings and beaks of birds. Newt said that their eggs were made of the purest silver.

Dougal threw handfuls of writhing maggots into the nest and gestured for Credence to do the same. For a few minutes, they watched the hungry chicks fight over the wriggling bugs until the bucket was nearly empty. Credence threw in the last handful, a few maggots slipping through his fingers by accident.

Before he could so much as blink, three of the occamy lunged, throwing themselves outside of the nest. Dougal made a panicked kind of squawk and vanished, and then Credence’s vision was made up entirely of blue. In the space of a moment, the chicks grew to massive size, nearly crushing him in the process. Credence threw himself out of the way of one of their tails as it thrashed, but he wasn’t fast enough. He flinched, his heart pounding so loudly in his ears that it almost obscured the thunderous noise around him, but there was no impact. The creature’s tail passed through him as if he was insubstantial as smoke and Credence looked down to see that he’d begun to blur.

The darkness inside him rose like a tide, capitalizing on the chaos. Credence winced, wrapping his arms around his stomach in an attempt to stop it, but it was no use. The dark was going to break free. He wasn’t strong enough to hold it in any longer. The world dimmed and blurred until it was nothing but violent flashes of sound and color, until –

“Credence!” Newt’s voice pulled his attention. “Credence, it’s alright!” He was lying, he had to be. Credence had hurt the occamy, he’d done something wrong – why was Newt _lying_? “They just get a little excited around dinnertime, but everything’s fine now. If you come back to me you can see for yourself. Come back to me, Credence.” _Come back to me_.

Slowly, the darkness ebbed away, leaving only Credence behind.

“There you are,” Newt said, smiling, and Credence knew that it must be a ruse. No one could look at him so kindly after he’d made such a mistake. He’d endangered the creatures, he’d lost control, and he could’ve killed every living creature in this case, including Newt. Just the thought made him sick to his stomach. “It’s going to be alright.”

Newt reached for him and Credence flinched, expecting a blow that didn’t come. The smile melted off of Newt’s face, replaced by something solemn and terribly, terribly sad.

“You’re alright,” Newt whispered, retracting his hand. Part of Credence was grateful. Most of him desperately wanted to feel Newt’s hand against his skin, anchoring him to this world. “You’re safe, I promise.”

 _But you’re not safe from me_ , Credence thought. Somehow he managed to stand under his own power and sprinted to his part of the case. For the first time, the field and its little stream weren’t a comfort to him, just reminders of his debt.

He couldn’t go on like this. He couldn’t keep living here, endangering Newt and all of the beasts, and not pay for it. But Newt hadn’t even raised a hand to him, not once, not ever. Perhaps it would always be this way and Credence would never know where he stood. He’d be trapped in limbo without anyplace to go or anything to give to Newt as payment. It was madness.

It had to end.

Credence opened up one of the drawers beside the bed – the bed he’d done nothing to earn – and reached for the long spike hidden inside. He’d found it days ago while he explored the suitcase; it belonged to an African beast called a Nundu. He didn’t know what had possessed him to pick it up at the time, but now he was glad that he had.

He couldn’t go on like this. He had to be punished for what he’d done to the occamy, and if Newt wasn’t willing to do it, well. Credence had carried out his own punishments before.

The Nundu quill was gripped in his fist when there was a knock on the door.

“Credence?” Newt called softly. “Dougal doesn’t think you should be alone right now and I’ve come to trust his advice.”

Credence heard the _click_ of the latch pulling open and steeled himself, drawing the quill over the skin of his forearm. Blood welled up and with the pain came relief – and then something else.

“Don’t!” Newt shouted before the world went hazy. “ _Credence_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your feedback! I'm glad you all like the story so far!  
> Hopefully, there will be a few chapters coming up in the next week or so - it's the holidays and writing this fic is keeping me from jingle blowing my brains out.  
> As always, comments and kudos are what keep me going. I love hearing from all of you.  
> Come talk to me on [ tumblr! ](%E2%80%9Dballerinawidow.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Abuse trigger warning at the beginning*

He was shirtless. Credence hated being shirtless, hated the bite of cold air against his skin. Braced against the doorframe, every knob in his spine looked primed to burst free and the scars from past beatings were stretched taut. He held himself as still as he could, bracing for the blows that came at odd intervals. Mary Lou had long since perfected the art of beating her foster children, but Credence knew that it was worse for him. He stopped showing signs of magic before Modesty and Chastity had been taken from their homes, but Mary Lou believed that without her vigilance, the sin and sickness would come back.

She was right; the magic was in him whether he was whole or beaten bloody. Credence quickly learned to hide any hint of strangeness in his foster mother’s house. But no matter what he did, Mary Lou always knew when his control was beginning to slip. Those days were the worst.

This was one of them.

Credence could already feel blood staining his skin crimson as the belt came down again and again. He tried to brace himself but soon it was all he could do to stay conscious. He’d felt Mary Lou’s wrath before but she was in rare form today, and whatever small part of him that was capable of rational thought knew that he wouldn’t be able to walk straight for days.

He wasn’t even aware of having fallen to his knees when Credence felt a hand in his hair. Mary Lou pulled his head back so he was forced to look her in the eye, his vision blurry and hopelessly unfocused.

“Let this be a reminder of what awaits sinners in Hell,” she said, shrill and sanctimonious. She released him and somehow, with a strength he didn’t know he possessed, Credence was able to wait until her footsteps faded to collapse onto the floor.

He didn’t move for a long time, blood and tears mingling on the ancient, warped floorboards. Every gust of wind against the wounds on his back was a new kind of agony and he was sure that he wouldn’t survive it. _She’s going to kill me_. The thought struck as sure as a lightning bolt. One day, for sins real or imagined, Mary Lou would kill him.

Credence didn’t know how long he lay there, trying desperately not to move for fear of aggravating his injuries. Then, without warning, the scene changed. He was no longer in his old bedroom, bleeding and in pain, but somewhere else entirely. The wounds on his back were healed and a warm, terrifying weight pressed him against the brick of an abandoned alleyway.

“You don’t know, do you?” Mr. Graves growled, his voice deeper than Credence had ever heard it. His pupils were enormous, swallowing up the iris entirely. “You don’t know how special you are. How perfect.” Credence keened, forgetting for a moment that Mr. Graves’ weight felt like an intrusion. _Special_. _Perfect_. No one had ever used such words with him before. He was a creature of sin, of shame.

Credence lost himself in sensation as Mr. Graves’ hands wandered over every bit of exposed skin he could find, finally hiking up Credence’s shirt and splaying his palm over his thin stomach. Credence trembled at the touch, desire, fear, and shame welling up inside him.

“Please,” Credence whispered, without really knowing what he was asking for. Mr. Graves made a sound low in his throat and then Credence was crushed back further. Mr. Graves’ lips were on his own, his tongue in Credence’s mouth and his hands – his hands were _everywhere_. Credence moaned, his eyes fluttering closed, and all he was aware of was the mouth on his and the heat pooling in his groin. It was too much, too fast, but he couldn’t find the strength to stop it.

“You can have this,” Mr. Graves whispered, pressing the heel of his hand between Credence’s legs. “ _We_ can have this.” Slowly, so slowly the older man began moving his hand back and forth and Credence was undone. He arched into the touch, a tremulous, broken sound escaping his lips.

He didn’t want this.

He’d never wanted something so desperately.

It _hurt_.

It was the best he’d ever felt.

“Listen to me now, Credence, and listen well,” Mr. Graves said, gripping the back of Credence’s neck and holding him fast. “Find the girl and bring her to me, and you and I will be together. But only if you do as I ask.” Credence nodded, trying to voice his assent, but the words wouldn’t come. They’d abandoned him altogether. “Good boy,” Mr. Graves whispered. He kissed the corner of Credence’s slack mouth before vanishing into nothingness, leaving Credence alone and hard in the alleyway.

Without anything to hold him up, Credence’s legs gave out and he slid to the ground. His mouth tasted like ash and he buried his face in his hands, tears burning the corners of his eyes. He wished Mr. Graves would take him wherever it was he went. He wished Mr. Graves would never come for him again.

He wished and wished but it could never change what he was. A sinner and a blasphemer, the worst kind of godless sodomite. Credence stuffed his fist into his mouth, terrified of being found here, terrified of what would happen if someone saw him. He cried in silence until his tears ran dry and he was left with nothing but shame burning a hole under his breastbone, and all the while, the evidence of his sin was still visible.

Something rustled at the end of the alley and Credence froze. He thought Mr. Graves had returned for him and his first instinct was to run. He couldn’t go through that again, he couldn’t stand the thought of being touched like that, even while his body yearned for it. But before he could choose to stay or flee, his vision went dark.

The scene vanished, replaced by another, and another, and another. Shame and pain mingled so often that Credence stopped knowing where the nightmare stopped and he began. Mary Lou, Mr. Graves, the senator he’d killed, every innocent who’d been caught in his rampage through New York, their faces flashed before him in a never ending parade.

Finally, the visions settled into something horribly familiar. His body was gone, swallowed whole by the darkness, and the world was warped and strange, as if he was glimpsing it through a funhouse mirror. Through his shadowy perception, Credence could sense dark, hateful magic in the air. Mr. Graves. His face was twisted with anger, dark eyes glinting sinisterly in the light coming out of his wand. Light that struck a blue-coated stranger on the subway tracks, again and again, and again.

Fury and pain roared in equal measure, and Credence lost any semblance of humanity he had left. He didn’t know why, but he raged to see the stranger hurt, raged to see Mr. Graves tormenting the only kind voice he’d known in months. He was lost in the darkness, guided only by his fear and anger until something familiar managed to find its way to him.

“Credence.”

He knew that voice. The voice of the man in the blue coat, the voice of the man from the subway. The man with the suitcase full of wonders.

Newt.

“Credence, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m here. I’m waiting for you.”

For a split second the darkness ebbed away, Credence could see the world as if he was floating above his body. He was still in the suitcase, tucked into the enormous bed Newt had magicked into reality and something was very wrong. Gone was the sunshine smile that lit up every inch of Newt’s face and made his eyes look golden. It had been replaced with a frown that was looked foreign and wrong.

“You have to live,” Newt whispered, stroking Credence’s hair out of his eyes – hair that was markedly longer than he remembered it. He was just a phantom, but he could feel the touch, unlike anything he’d experienced before. Kind. Unassuming. Demanding nothing in return. “I don’t know what I did…I’m sorry.” Newt’s voice trembled and broke, the pain and guilt weighing too much to bear. To Credence’s horror, he could see tears collecting on Newt’s eyelashes and dropping onto the blanket. “I’m so, so sorry, but whatever I did to drive you to this…I’ll make it right, I promise you. I can’t bear – you need to live, Credence.”

Whatever force allowing him to see the world as a specter expired, and Credence was sucked back into his prone body, into darkness. He didn’t know how long he stayed there, but Newt’s voice was waiting for him when his senses came back to him. Emerging from the dark took much longer than succumbing to it, and Credence returned to his body piece by piece.

“I don’t know what kind of story this is to be teaching children,” Newt was saying, his voice still small and sad. “Muggles certainly have a strange way of doing things. I daresay Jack isn’t much of a hero at all, stealing the poor giant’s treasure and then killing him. What did the giant ever do to him? He was just minding his own business.”

There was the sound of a book being gently closed and set aside, and Credence could feel the faint pressure of a hand in his own.

“Dougal says that you’re looking better today,” Newt said softly. “He’s brought the occamy by a few times to see you.” A sniff, like he was trying to laugh and failed. “They miss you. We all miss you, Credence. I…I miss you.”

Somehow, Credence forced his hand to move, twitching his fingers just a little tighter around Newt’s.

_I’m here_ , he thought with all his might. His voice still wouldn’t obey him, but somehow he knew that Newt would understand. _I’m here_. _I came back to you_.

* * *

 

Credence didn’t know how long he’d been asleep, but it felt like ages. He was alone when he woke again and this time he was able to open his eyes. His room was largely the same, though there were more books stacked on the bedside table than he remembered. He squinted to read the titles, recognizing a few Muggle fairytales among the wizard texts. A cup of smoking liquid was to his right and when Credence’s muscles ached when he forced himself to sit up on the pillows.

“Dougal, what is it? I don’t – ” Newt said, walking in through the door. He looked tired, Credence thought, and there were bags under his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He’d lost some of his color and the tip of his nose was red, as if he’d been fighting tears. “Oh.”

Credence tried to find the words to express how sorry he was, how much he hated himself for hurting Newt, but none would come. Newt blinked, before tears welled in his eyes. Slowly, like the sun peeking out from behind a cloud, his lips turned up into the most beautiful smile Credence had ever seen.

“I’m sorry,” Credence croaked, his voice little more than a dull rasp. The corners of his eyes pricked and stung, and he felt a lump rising in his throat.

“ _Credence_ ,” Newt said, still smiling brilliantly. “You’re okay. Thank God you’re okay.” He looked as if he might fall over at any moment. On unsteady legs, Newt crossed the room and sat at the corner of the bed. Slowly, telegraphing his movements, he reached for Credence’s hand and when he didn’t pull away, took it in his. “You’re okay.” Newt said again, holding Credence’s hand like it was a precious thing. “You’re okay.”

Maybe, Credence thought, if Newt believed it, he could believe it too.

Healing was agonizingly slow. Credence could only stay awake for a few hours at a time and spend most of his days sleeping off the effects of the Nundu’s poison. Newt explained that the beast caused a kind of perpetual nightmare, making its prey relive their worst memories until they lost the will to live. Most never recovered. Newt had managed to make a kind of vaccine out of the venom of the Swooping Evil that hung around his finger, but it was a miracle that Credence had woken up at all.     

_That was you,_ Credence had wanted to say. _You saved me. You’re the miracle_. He wasn’t brave enough to speak the words aloud.

Sometimes, when he was feeling stronger, he and Newt took walks around the case. Most days they never made it past the field, but that was alright. Credence found he didn’t care where they were as long as Newt was with him. It was nice to have someone there to chase the shadows away. The darkness inside him had laid mostly dormant since Credence woke up, but he could still feel it at the edge of his consciousness, waiting for any opportunity to break free.

At night, when Newt was done with his rounds, they would read together. They started with the fairytales Credence had been deprived of as a child, switching from Muggle to wizard stories and back again. But Credence found that what he most wanted to know about was the Wizarding world. What Newt couldn’t tell him offhand he read in the dozens of books by his bedside. As it turned out, despite his foster mother’s insistence that he was too dim to bother with schooling, Credence took well to the books, devouring some in a single sitting. Learning about the world he’d meant to grow up in, the world Mary Lou had so hated, was a kind of catharsis. Knowing was better than fearing outright, and Credence was tired of being afraid.

That didn’t stop his heart from breaking into a gallop when Newt came into his bedroom with a particularly solemn expression. In the days since Credence had awoken, he’d started to look like himself again, but there was no sunshine smile now.

“Credence,” he started softly, and Credence looked up from where he was sitting in an overstuffed armchair. Newt settled on the end of the bed, fiddling with his fingers. _He’s going to ask me to leave_. Credence was well enough to fend for himself now, and it would make sense that Newt wouldn’t want the burden of looking after him anymore. Besides, Newt had his creatures to care for, and his book to publish. He didn’t need Credence taking up the lion’s share of his time. Credence was promising himself that he’d leave without any blubbering when Newt continued. “I need to know why.”

“Why?” he repeated, his mind going blank.

Newt inhaled, a pained expression on his face. “I need to know what I did wrong – what I did to cause you to hurt yourself.” His voice was so laden with guilt that Credence wanted to hold him tight and never let go, but he settled for clutching the book to his chest.

“It wasn’t you,” Credence said, trying to find a way of explaining something that came so naturally to everyone else but seemed completely foreign to Newt. Owing was a part of life. Mary Lou taught every child under her roof that she rescued them, so they owed her their respect and obedience. Mr. Graves had given Credence hope for a future, and he’d taken his payment and more. Nothing was free; it was the way of the world.

Or so Credence had thought, until he met Newt.

“I needed…I needed to pay for what you gave me. A refuge, my own place, offering to teach me magic, even this,” Credence said, playing with a strand of his hair. It had hung nearly to his shoulders when he woke up and he hadn’t cut it since. Newt said he looked dashing, like the hero in a story. Credence kept it long. “Kindness – kindness has a cost and I couldn’t bear not knowing what you wanted in return. I couldn’t breathe and I kept _waiting_ – ” He swallowed, hating how Newt’s looked more and more ill the longer he spoke. Perhaps this was a mistake, but he’d come too far to stop now. “I thought if I punished myself some of the debt would be paid.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Newt said softly.

“Everyone wants something,” Credence said. “Even you.”

Newt stood suddenly and Credence flinched.

“Are you well enough to walk?” Newt asked, his voice abruptly brisk. Credence nodded and Newt set off through the door. It was a short journey that ended in the Fwooper habitat; small, brightly plumed birds whose feathers were used for quills and whose song could drive people mad. There were almost a dozen of them, some darting through the air in a collision of color, others sleeping on little pedestals. A few opened their beaks at him, but no sound came out.

“I’ve never told you, Credence, but you can do something that I cannot,” Newt said. Credence doubted that very much but he kept his thoughts to himself. He’d already contradicted Newt enough for one afternoon. “These birds are gorgeous,” he continued, as a Fwooper with brilliantly green feathers perched on his shoulder. “They come in so many fantastic colors that poachers kill them to sell for quills and cloaks. I think they’re beautiful, of course. All of my creatures are beautiful, but not because of that. You see, “ he said, inhaling as in he was about to admit something. “I can’t see color, Credence. I am very much blind in that respect, and it’s taken a toll on my studies.”

For a moment Credence blinked, dumbfounded that someone so bright, so surrounded by color and beauty, lived in shades of gray.

“You say that every kindness has a cost, yes?” Newt said, and Credence braced himself for the worst. His heart jumped as Newt took his hands, gold eyes perfectly earnest. “Then repay mine with a kindness of your own and consider your debt paid. Be my eyes, Credence. Let me see the world through you.”

Credence smiled, something warm igniting in his chest. This was nothing he had expected and he couldn’t be happier – this – giving something to Newt – was a payment he would make gladly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the idea to make Newt colorblind because Eddie Redmayne is!
> 
> I hope you're all enjoying reading the story as much as I'm enjoying writing it.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos make my world go round, and I love hearing from you all


	4. Chapter 4

Things were…good. Better than Credence had ever believed that they could be. He was whole again and spent his days wandering around the case with the creatures. Sometimes, he did the daily rounds when Newt was tinkering with his manuscript or any of his mysterious errands outside of the suitcase. Credence never asked him where he went for fear that it would prompt a conversation about finding his own arrangements. He knew he couldn’t stay here forever, but for now, it was nice to pretend.

Credence was never without Dougal or the occamy chick Newt had let him name. He called her Faith and whenever she was with him she stayed in his pocket or hung around his neck like the Swooping Evil on Newt’s finger.

None of the creatures, not the strangest or most fearsome of the lot, were strangers to him anymore. The Eurumpet and Graphorns ate from his hands, and Credence had even faced Nina the Nundu. It had taken some time, but now she purred whenever Credence came into her habitat, a low roaring sound that made his chest rattle. She liked it when he read to her, and Credence always visited her last so that he could stay until well into the night.

He’d never read so much in his entire life. Mary Lou hadn’t allowed him to get much of an education, forcing Credence and his sisters to abandon their schooling for Second Salem duties. What precious time he could have been learning magic was spent handing out leaflets on the street. Of course, all of his reading was purely theoretical. Credence couldn’t do a lick of magic on his own, despite what Newt said. The most magical thing about him was the darkness inside his chest.

When Credence plucked up the courage to ask, Newt told him that it was called an obscurus.

“What it is,” Newt explained, “is your self-preservation instinct personified. You learned very early that magic would cause you pain, yes? So you repressed it. Magic isn’t meant to be locked away like that; it’s meant to be harnessed and expressed. During the Salem witch trials, dozens and dozens of wizards and witches turned themselves into obscurials to avoid persecution. Fear is a powerful motivation and it affected generations. It’s part of the reason why we went underground, to keep any more of us from turning obscurial.”

“So there are others like me?” Credence asked. Newt’s face fell and he shook his head.

“I’m afraid not. The last one I knew of was a girl in Sudan.” Newt bit his lip and Credence knew what he was going to say before he said it. “She died before I could save her. Usually, an obscurial dies before they reach ten years old. They’re consumed by the darkness.”

That was what was going to happen to him. Credence’s heart hammered in his chest and his breath came in short gasps. He was going to live until this _thing_ inside him burned him out, and in the meantime, he was endangering the lives of every creature in the case. He was endangering _Newt._

“Credence,” Newt said, cutting into the chaos of his thoughts. Credence refocused to see Newt smiling at him. How could he smile? “Don’t you see? You’re unprecedented.”

“I’m dangerous.”

“So is Nina and I’ve found you asleep in her habitat more than once,” Newt said, waving a hand. “No one has survived this long with an obscurus inside of them. Do you know what that means?”

_Yes, I’m a ticking time bomb,_ Credence thought.

“It means that you’re strong. The magic inside of you is so powerful that not even the obscurus could destroy it. You’re amazing.” Credence had ducked and looked away at that. He didn’t like Newt’s compliments. He didn’t deserve them.

They hadn’t talked much about the obscurus since then, though Newt made it clear that he was happy to answer any questions. Credence didn’t want to think about it, because he knew that he would never leave Newt or the beasts, not of his own free will. Newt was wrong about him; at the end of the day, Credence was still the selfish, sinful creature he always had been. He didn’t want to be on his own, not even when it might save all of their lives.

Credence soothed his guilt by helping Newt. He couldn’t do much, but Credence tried to describe colors the best he could. They were more attuned to feelings than anything else, but it was the best he could do. Seeking to do more than his paltry descriptions, Credence offered to color Newt’s field notes and the illustrations in his manuscript. _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ would be far more eye-catching in color. Besides, the world deserved to see how exquisite the creatures truly were, and black and white couldn’t capture the way Dougal’s eyes changed when he saw the future or the Fwooper’s brilliant plumage. The book really was shaping up to be something special, and Credence couldn’t wait to see it published.

More specifically, he couldn’t want to see _Newt_ when it was published. There was just something about him when he talked about his creatures. He glowed as if lit from within, and Credence wanted nothing more than to bask in the light that came off of him. Newt could go on about magical species for hours and Credence loved to listen to him even though sometimes he would stop and apologize for talking for so long. For all of Newt’s perceptions, he didn’t seem to realize that he could talk about paint drying and Credence would hang on to every word.

One day, Credence was working on a particularly tricky illustration of Pickett when Newt clambered down the staircase from outside.

“Oh, Pick, leave him be, would you?” Newt admonished when he saw the bowtruckle watching Credence’s every move. The little creature was a harsh critic and if Credence colored in a way he didn’t like, he showed his displeasure with spiky fists. Credence had already wrapped two fingers in bandages.

“He’s helping,” Credence said. Pickett smiled. “Sort of. _Ow_!”

“Leave poor Credence alone or I’ll have him color you purple. See how you like that.”

Pickett blew a raspberry before climbing up Newt’s coat and slipping into his pocket. Both Newt and his blue coat were soaked through from the rain. Not for the first time, Credence wondered where they were now. He’d been in the case for weeks; surely they’d left the steamship. Not to mention that Newt had been leaving more and more often lately.

Credence pretended like it didn’t bother him.

“Credence,” Newt said. He waved his wand and the water vanished. “I was hoping – if you’re amendable, of course – that you’d take a walk with me.”

“Of course,” Credence said, putting down his pencils and standing. “Faith and her sisters need feeding anyhow.”

“No, no, not here. I was wondering if you would like to accompany me outside.”

Credence’s eyes flicked to the trapdoor that led out of the suitcase. “Outside?”

“Erm, yes,” Newt said, rubbing a bit of his coat between his fingers like he did when he was nervous. “We’ve come quite a long way and I thought you might like to see London.”

“London,” Credence said, reduced to parroting Newt’s words back at him. “We’re in London?”

“Yes,” Newt said, peering through his eyelashes. In the weeks they’d spent together, Credence noticed that Newt rarely looked him in the eye, instead focusing on a spot on his forehead. Credence didn’t mind; he wasn’t fond of eye contact either.

There was a strange pause as Credence realized that Newt was nervous. He was worried that Credence would say no. Even now, the luxury of choice took him by surprise.

“I’ve been dying to show you,” Newt added, hedging, “but if you don’t feel like you’re ready, then – ”

“I’m ready,” Credence said. The words came unbidden and Credence found that he meant them. He wanted to learn where Newt had come from. He wanted to experience a new place, somewhere different from the gray bustle of New York.

Then something occurred to him. “Will people…know me here?”

“No,” Newt assured him, some of the nervousness melting away. “According to MACUSA and the Wizarding community at large, you and your obscurus died in the subway. No one will be looking for you.”

“But – ” Credence started, worrying his lip. Newt nodded encouragingly. They’d been working on breaking Credence of his fear of speaking out and, just as with everything else, Newt was endlessly patient with him. “What if someone _does_ recognize me? Won’t you get into trouble?”

Newt smiled. “It’s sweet of you to worry, but there’s no need. We’ll come up with a clever story to explain why we’re together in London and no one will look twice. Other wizards…they don’t have much patience for me.”

Credence didn’t understand how _that_ was possible, but it wasn’t his biggest concern.

“But if they do find out – ”

“Credence,” Newt said gently. “My philosophy is that by worrying, you suffer twice. But if this anxiety is because you don’t want to leave quite yet, I understand. You can stay here as long as you like.” Credence let that sit for a moment, thinking over his options.

He could stay here, where it was safe, with Nina and Pickett and Dougal and all the rest. Newt wasn’t going to evict him anytime soon. That was some kind of comfort.

“I can come back if I don’t like it outside?”

“Of course you can,” Newt said. “I daresay my creatures would riot if you never came home.”

_Home_. Credence hadn’t thought of it in such terms until now, but it was true. He’d never considered Mary Lou’s apartment to be his home, not when he spent every moment there holding his breath and waiting to make a mistake. The little cottage in the field, the creature habitats… he felt safer here than he had anywhere.

“Can I bring Faith with me?” Credence asked. “If I keep her in my pocket?”

“Well, I suppose she is a smidge more discreet than Nina. As long as she promises to be good, of course.” In his pocket, there was the tiny chirp of Faith’s assent. “Brilliant. Shall we go then?”

“Now?” Credence asked, balking.

“There’s no time like the present,” Newt said, before looking again. “Unless you changed your mind?”

“No,” Credence said, shaking his hand and straightening his spine. He could do this. He _wanted_ to do this. And like Newt said, no one knew him in London. MACUSA thought he was dead, and only one person had ever seen his face anyhow. “No, I want to.”

“Perfect,” Newt said, brandishing his wand. “Care to dress for the weather?” Credence nodded and with a short swishing motion, Credence’s simple black ensemble was transformed into a warm wool overcoat, with a matching waistcoat and tie. It was by far the finest outfit he’d ever worn and there was even an umbrella hanging from his forearm. Credence put his hand to his hair to find that it was tied back smartly in the way that Newt liked.

“You look absolutely stunning,” Newt said. There was something strange in his smile and Credence found himself blushing.

“What?” Credence said, fiddling nervously with his cuffs.

“Most wizards don’t have much time for Muggle clothes but I find them quite handsome. In any case, you should have some robes of your own. We’ll pick them up while we’re out.”

“I don’t – ” Credence said, swallowing hard. “I don’t have any money.”

“Neither do I,” Newt said cheerfully. “Well, my family does, but I prefer not to dip into the Scamander family trust. We, my dear Credence, have something much better than a bank account: a niffler.” Newt rattled his pockets and Credence could hear coins clinking. “Speaking of, we should go before he realizes that I’ve taken some of his hoard.”

“Well then, after you,” Credence said, summoning his courage. Newt climbed up the stairs and Credence took a deep breath before following. The case had been placed on the side of a street, and no one so much as glanced their way.

“You’ve got Faith?” Newt asked. Credence nodded, opening his umbrella to shield him from the rain.

“Then we’re on our way,” Newt said, extending his arm. This time, Credence took it, feeling his skin warm where it came in contact with Newt’s coat.

London was so different than New York. Older, and somehow more infinite. The buildings were smaller and there was more space between them. It was almost as if the city had room to breathe.

“This is Muggle London,” Newt explained as they walked. The rain glanced off of him like water on a duck’s wing, but like their exit from the case, none of the passersby seemed to notice.

“I’m fine to keep walking,” Credence said as they ducked into a small bar called The Leaky Cauldron.

“Oh no, you misunderstand,” Newt said. He was in his element here, talking and explaining. He was a wonderful teacher. Credence wondered if he’d ever considered becoming a professor once his book was published. “This is our way to Wizarding London. If anyone asks, we’ll say that you’re a fan of magizoology.”

“Can I be an occamy breeder?” Credence asked. Faith shifted in his pocket, enjoying the attention.

Newt grinned at the initiative. “Why yes, of course. In we go.”

The Leaky Cauldron was a dingy little place. There was so much magic inside that it was almost palpable, and Credence couldn’t stop staring. Everywhere he looked were witches and wizards, some in Muggle dress, some in traditional robes. He had to duck out of the way as a teacup and saucer flew through the air, nearly pelting him in the forehead.

“Would you like anything?” Newt asked. “Tom here makes an excellent beef barley soup.” Credence hesitated, feeling eyes on them before shaking his head. He didn’t like being gawked at.

“Who’s yer friend, Newton?” an old man growled from behind the bar.

“This excellent young man, Tom, is the foremost occamy breeder in the world,” Newt announced grandly. Credence blushed. “And how many time must I ask you to call me Newt?”

“A newt is a creature, and as far as I can tell, you haven’t turned into one of yer monsters quite yet,” Tom said before fixing bright blue eyes on Credence. “So you’re a nutter like him, are you?”

“Faith?” Credence called softly, reaching into his pocket. The occamy chick had grown considerably since she’d hatched and she wound protectively around Credence’s forearm, hissing. “She doesn’t like you.”

“Looks like you found a kindred spirit, Newt,” Tom said. “Nutters, the both of you.” Faith hissed again, disappearing into Credence’s pocket again. He needed to remember to give her a treat later.

“We nutters will be on our way. Good seeing you, Tom,” Newt said, gesturing them away from the bar.

“Oi, Newton. Your brother’s in town!” Tom called after them. Credence could feel Newt tense beside him and his heart squeezed painfully. “If you see Theseus, tell ‘im Tom says hello.”

Newt didn’t answer, leading them to a brick wall in the back of the tavern. He was uncharacteristically quiet, tapping his wand against the bricks until they peeled back to reveal a whole different world.

Credence soon forgot Newt’s strange behavior as they walked through the doorway. If Credence had thought that The Leaky Cauldron was magical, if was nothing compared to Diagon Alley. Spells and charms danced through the air, and he could see witches and wizards brandishing their wands without fear. It was amazing.

It was all he could do not to stare, open-mouthed, as Newt walked him through the shops. There were pet shops and shoe shops, even a magical ice cream eatery. The pictures on the walls and in the newspapers _moved_ , really moved. Newt was as good as his word and bought Credence his very own set of robes, in black and midnight blue. The witch at the counter tried to insist that Credence stopped to get fitted, but Newt intervened.

“We’ll tailor them ourselves,” he said smoothly, accepting the parcels and handing them to Credence, who took them gratefully. He wanted to avoid being prodded with pins if he could, and the idea of standing on one of those pedestals where everyone could see him made his stomach turn.

“This is all so…” Credence said, his head spinning. They’d only visited half the shops on the street, but he was already overwhelmed.

“We don’t have to see everything today,” Newt assured him. “There’s just one more stop I’d like to make before we head back, if you don’t mind.”

“That’s alright,” Credence said and Newt stopped in front of a tiny, disorganized storefront that he wouldn’t have noticed among all the flashy, magical displays up and down the street.

“Welcome to Ollivander’s,” Newt said, pushing the door open. The bell tinkled, announcing their arrival. “I think it’s high time you got a wand of your own.”

“A wand?” Credence said, stopping dead in his tracks. “But, won’t they – ”

“Do not worry, Credence Barebone,” a voice came from the back of the shop. “Although that is not your real last name. I think you’ll find that Fidem suits you much better.” An old man walked out of the shadows, leaning heavily on a walking stick. His silvery eyes were fixed on Credence, drinking him in. “Credence Fidem. Yes, that’s who you are. Powerful.”

“Newt,” Credence said, every instinct screaming at him to flee. The obscurus writhed in his belly, and it felt as if it could break free at any moment.

“Gervaise, please,” Newt said. “Enough.”

“Oh, come now, Newt,” Gervais said, grinning a very unnerving grin. “You know this is how I do business. A little showmanship never hurt anyone.” Newt fixed him with a deeply unimpressed look. “Fine, fine.”

The old man waved his wand and the lights brightened. With them on, the shop didn’t seem quite so intimidating, and Credence could see boxes upon boxes of wands stacked on every available surface. There were so many they had to be arranged into pathways to allow customers through.

“So you’re the obscurial that had MACUSA with their wands in a knot,” the old man, Gervais, said, chuckling. “Now I’m not one to throw stones, not with the Ministry the way it is, but that lot has some backward ways of doing things.”

“Don’t worry about Gervais,” Newt murmured soothingly as the old man wandered through the stacks, pulling boxes at random.

“He knows who I am,” Credence whispered back, his heart pounding in his ears.

“Yes, I didn’t anticipate that,” Newt said. “I’m sorry. His family comes from a long line of wandmakers, and apparently, there’s some Seer in the mix.”

“Don’t you worry about me, boy,” Gervais said, ambling back to them. “I owe young Newton a favor.”

“I helped him with an infestation of Arboliferrus Beetles in a grove of his wand trees a while back,” Newt explained.

“As far as I’m concerned, Newt is the Scamander people should be talking about,” Gervais went on. “Not that war hero brother of his. Better wand too. Ash and limewood.”

“We’re not here to talk about me,” Newt said.

“Yes, yes, your obscurial friend.”

“Do not call him that,” Newt said sharply. Gervais shot him a strange look before turning his silvery gaze back to Credence.

“My apologies. We’re here to find you a wand and we will. Here.”

Credence took the wand gingerly, the way he’d handled Newt’s, but nothing happened. Not a single, solitary thing. Nothing happened with _any_ of them. Again and again, he tried. Gervais handed him wands of oak, ash, cherry, and some kinds of wood he’d never heard of before. None of them worked.

“Maybe I’m not…” Credence started, disappointment and embarrassment weighing on him. He’d dreamed about a wand of his own for so long, even since before he came to be with Newt, and now that he was so close, the wands rejected him outright.

“Now, now, none of that talk. You are a uniquely powerful wizard, Credence Fidem. Perhaps you’re just picky. Picky…” Gervais trailed off, disappearing into the stacks again. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever sold a wand with this particular configuration before, but let’s give it a go, shall we?”

Credence didn’t know what was so special about this wand, or why it would accept him when all of the others hadn’t but Gervais seemed to think that this one would be different. Credence reached into the box and the wand seemed to leap into his hand of its own accord. A sensation like warm lightning rushed through him and violet sparks shot from the wand’s tip.

“Yes!” Newt shouted, sweeping Credence into a hug. The embrace was so unexpected that at first Credence froze before melting into the touch. He wanted to stay here forever, in the warmth of Newt’s arms. “I’m so happy for you,” Newt whispered, holding onto Credence’s shoulders even once they’d broken apart.

“Thornwood and phoenix feather, eleven-and-three-quarters inches, unyielding. A unique wand indeed. Picky and powerful. I daresay that wand has been here for decades and hasn’t chosen anyone. Probably never would have. One of a kind, for a one of a kind wizard.” The old man smiled. “You’re going to be great someday.”

“And now,” Newt said, looking so joyful it was as if he’d swallowed the sun, “you can do magic of your very own.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I'm so sorry this has taken me so long, but I got swept up in the holidays.  
> As always, comments and kudos (and especially comments) make me the happiest nerd of them all


End file.
